An Innocuous Meeting : Part I
MrEyeball chuckled. Or rather, Doc did. Yes, believe it or not, Doc is MrEyeball and MrEyeball is Doc.
His real identity, however, was Mr. Stephen Davis. Mr. Davis was middle-aged, turning fifty-three in two weeks. Long hours staring at computer screens had left permanent, almost comical bags under his eyes though he was still surprisingly in good-shape despite his age. But the inevitable ‘middle-age-belly’ had started to develop and he was no longer in optimal mating condition. He was married, thirty years, but long hours of work had made the marriage indifferent.
The cursor dragged across his screen and he clicked ‘Reply’. “Stupid kids,” he thought. “Especially that one annoying kid, UnicornSla.”
A few quick keystrokes and another window was brought up. Squinting, Mr. Davis traced his fingers against a dull spreadsheet of numbers and found what he was looking for. His finger stopped abruptly on a green number and he sighed. So far so good. Another year, and RealmEye was still making money. What’s more the forums had seen some good growth since Shatter’s Christmas giveaway event, hopefully translating to a bit more income for him.
Mr. Davis frowned. Shatter. His thoughts about business and money suddenly switched towards the elusive forums addict. While Shatter claimed to be a guy, Mr. Davis wasn’t so sure. The way he talked on the forums seemed to give an impression of a more feminine character, and Mr. Davis (who was in his office) gave a quick scan around to make sure nobody was looking at him, the proceeded to stalk blue-fish.
After an hour of unsuccessful searching, Mr. Davis finally stopped, flexing his thighs in preparation to get some coffee when he saw a message pop-up. An involuntary harumph made its way out of the aged body and his thighs relaxed. A few deft clicks could be heard, and Mr. Davis began to read:
Dear Doc,
I really appreciate your commitment and dedication to the forums. I apologize, but I was trying to find out more about you earlier and chanced upon some information that revealed where you live. Would you be interested in coming to coffee with me?
- Shatter
Mr. Davis, or rather Doc, blinked. He had become so accustomed to assuming online personas that whenever he sat down on the computer with RealmEye open, he was Doc. Nobody else. A loud crash caused him to jump, and only after did he confirm the benevolent nature of the noise did Doc begin to respond.
Dear Shatter,
I’d love to, lunch in half an hour, meet at Dingos?
Almost inhumanly fast, another notification.
Dear Doc,
Will meet you there, at 12:00 sharp.
To be continued, al NSFW version if you guys want
An Innocuous Meeting : Part II
It was 12:01 and Doc fixed his eyes intently on the clock. Perhaps Shatter had set him up, and he was wasting his time. He clasped his hands together, then unfolded them. What if he was a girl? Doc’s hands started to clam-up, and with as much grace and elegance as he could muster, he picked up his tea cup and drank deeply. The noise of the hot liquid going down his esophagus seemed magnified in the small restaurant. What should he say? You’re a good player? By now, Doc’s hands were practically sweating buckets and he wiped them vigorously against his dark dress pants. He smiled. That’s the good thing about having dark pants, water stains doesn’t show up. Dingo’s was a dingy place, with a smell - somewhat reminiscent of old ladies and cigars - permeating the air. Doc turned, as casually as he could, and did what he always did when he waited; observe.
At lunchtime, the restaurant would be half-full at best, but the economy had taken a toll recently. Two couples were stuffed in the corner, sitting at a small rectangular table. One of the males laughed, seemingly forced, and the other three chimed in the artificial cacophony. Doc’s eyes moved on, like honey dripping, towards a lone man who was eating a salad. It felt quite wrong - the man was giant - that he should eat a salad was a crime against nature, thought Doc.
By now, he had scanned more than half the room but a charming, feminine voice shook Doc from his tranced-Sherlock state. “Are you Doc?” Almost instantly, shooting almost painful heat shot up into his face and the hands that had dried off just recently were greased again. “Yes.” That was all he managed to say as he somewhat awkwardly pivoted/shuffled on his bum to find a pair of penetrating green eyes staring into his own dull ones. Shatter was indeed a girl, slender and petite but with rather perky breasts. She was no younger than eighteen, but definitely not older than twenty-five and had her luscious blonde hair in a tight bun.
“I’m Shatter, well my real name is Angela though. What’s yours?” Angela stretched out a well-lotioned hand.
“I’m Doc… er, well I mean Steven.”
“I think I’ll just call you Doc, Mr. Steven.”
A pause followed.
“Well, I’m starved, let’s get some food!”
After an awkward initial exchange, Doc and Shatter became slightly more comfortable, though no less platonic. They talked about a variety of things, first RotMG, than the recent election as everybody does, and found a shared interest in orienteering. Then, when it was 12:40, Doc feigned a stretch and got up languidly.
“I’ll pay, we should see each other tonight. Maybe I’ll even play for once.”
Shatter flashed a smile, one of the rare smiles that makes ones heart twist and flutter until an observer would think they had had a heart attack. It didn’t help that Doc was over fifty.
“Of course.”
Well, go deep or go home, was a mantra I lived by in my earlier days… I didn’t want to be too graphic lest @Doc sees this .
An Innocuous Meeting : Part III <font color="red">¡NSFW!</font>
Over RealmEye, the ecstatic two exchanged phone numbers and decided the most sensible thing to do was that Doc would come over to Shatter’s house once his wife had slept. At home, Doc was on edge, and every question from his wife that on any other day would have seemed routine struck a nerve.
It was almost eleven before husband and wife went to bed. It didn’t help that Doc shared his bed, and it neared midnight before his wife was safely asleep. With much care and caution, Doc slowly rolled over, cringing at every creak the bed made. His wife made an guttural growl and proceeded to roll over to the opposite side of the bed.
A glowing computer screen pierced the darkness as he made his way down their moderately sized bungalow and he felt a pang of guilt for what he was about to do. But a fierce denial erupted from within, so volatile Doc nearly lost his footing on the third last step of the stairs. Almost thirty years of marriage and no children, no nothing. Heck, he didn’t even remember why he married her in the first place, she was shrewd, lethargic and boring.
A second thought dissuaded Doc from using the car, as it was parked in the garage which meant he would have to open it. The garage door was old, the paint peeling and made horrible screeching noises audible from at least two houses away. Not that any of his neighbours had better doors. He decided to try out a discount Uber, to preserve anonymity, even walking two blocks to prevent the driver from knowing where he came from.
The address Shatter had given him boasted a peculiar charm to it: 17 Hensdale Way
. Something about the number seventeen resonated, perhaps it was a prime number. When the driver pulled up to the house and fractiously demanded the total owed, Doc hesitantly gave him the money, quickly telling him to stay another minute. Skittishly, he pulled out his phone and checked the text. 17 Hensdale Way
. Doc told the driver to wait for another five minutes because he was unsure if this was the correct place, to which the driver responded with an irritable grunt.
The house, or more precisely, the mansion had a Gothic gate with a narrow path leading up to it. The gate was already unlocked and Doc had a bad feeling that this was the wrong house. But he walked along the path anyways, completely ignoring the beauty and bliss of the French windows that would have been revealed during the daytime.
Doc stood at the front of the doors. In actuality, they were comparatively small when looking at similar mansions but they appeared dominating and monolithic to him. A succession of three timid raps on the door summoned a solemn looking butler, who ushered him in with unnecessary haste. Then, as suddenly as he was ushered in, the butler left.
“Looking pristine,” a raspy voice called, apparently from nowhere.
Doc spun around, but there was nothing.
An abrupt whiff of perfume caught his nostrils and before he knew it, Shatter had him pinned against a wall, hands caressing buttocks, tongue in mouth.
There was a noticeable change in temperature, and Shatter marched Doc down a majestic hallway and swerved to the left. Inside the chamber they entered was a four-person jacuzzi, and it looked out of place; too modern for the antique feel the mansion had.
“Let’s have some fun.”
Doc stripped down, as dignified as he could in front of a lady. Unsure about the underwear, Doc hesitated but Shatter advanced upon him and forcefully ripped them off his frame. Hand clammy, Doc was led into the bubbling jacuzzi, apparently prepared for them by the butler. He sat down, and found the angle of the backrest to be too low, but before he could adjust, Shatter sat down in the dead centre of his lap, laying her head on the cushiony area between deltoid and chest.
“Let’s have some fun,” she stated again, and began to get down to work. Before he knew it, an orgastic eruption of neurons compromised his vision and an involuntary series of shallow breaths followed.
Later in Shatter’s bed-chamber, they went to work again. She groaned and he, still in commendable physical shape, jack-hammered until the orgastic revelation commenced one more.
It was only afterwards, the two cuddling, when Shatter asked, “Now can I be a mod?” A light dawned upon his eyes and Doc looked up, horrified at pair of dead eyes staring at him, realizing only now that this entire affair had been a false disillusionment, and the only intent had been hedonistic lust.
Nobody heard the screams, and when his body was found three days later at the bottom of the falls, it was assumed that Doc had committed suicide.
“He was depressed,” said a coworker, “It was inevitable.”